


Dodger

by DarkVoid116



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkVoid116/pseuds/DarkVoid116
Summary: In May of 2003, Spike burned to ash in the Sunnydale Hellmouth.In October of 2006, Buffy went to a Dodgers game.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanotari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanotari/gifts).



> Happy birthday to Kanotari! Thanks to irma66 and yellowb for beta-reading. This fic is complete, with one chapter posting a day through Sunday.

_Thursday, October 5, 2006_

When their father had called, announcing his latest engagement to some fancy model named Melanie, Buffy had wanted nothing more than to ignore him the way he’d done to them for so long. It had been Dawn who wanted to give Hank Summers _one last chance_. She begrudgingly agreed, responding to the engagement party invite with a simple ‘yes’.

It was honestly really weird; their father was trying extra hard these days to make up for lost time. He’d even agreed to let her bring Xander and Willow with them to the engagement party. So, the four of them had booked plane tickets and a hotel for the weekend in downtown Los Angeles. Their flights were scheduled to take off from the Da Vinci airport in Rome around lunchtime on Friday and arrive by dinnertime in California, after the time difference was accounted for.

Buffy still had a shitload to pack before she was ready to go anywhere. She had the bare essentials mapped out - shampoo and conditioner, four carefully-chosen autumn outfits for the SoCal weather, one toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, etc. - but wanted to visit a local convenience store for some airplane snacks, a case of water bottles, some magazines, and anything else to pass the time on the flight. Dawn at least had the newest iPod Mini to hold her over, a gift from Buffy to celebrate her sister’s last birthday.

She walked into their apartment’s small kitchenette, spotting Willow hunched over the dining room table. Her best friend had decided to come a few days before the actual trip so they could spend some extra time together. Buffy really appreciated that gesture right now.

Even if they hadn’t been _quite_ as close since the Hellmouth’s collapse as before it all went to shit, they were still pretty darned good friends. Willow and Xander remained the two closest people she had who she wasn’t related to.

“Hey, Wills. You wanna come with me to the store?” She flashed her fob, dangling the keys to her black SUV. “I wanna head out for food and drinks and maybe the latest celeb gossip,” Buffy told her, grinning good-naturedly.

“Sure. Let me just grab my stuff,” Willow agreed. She and Dawn didn’t have a spare bedroom in their apartment, so Willow had taken to using the couch as a makeshift pull out bed whenever she visited. That left the small space between the sofa and the wall as the only area to stow her suitcase. 

Buffy watched as Willow grabbed her thin red Coach pocketbook and brown wallet, brushed her hair into her familiar style, and threw a lightweight blue jacket on. While their apartment was surprisingly still warm, the Rome air grew colder by the day. “I’m ready,” Willow eventually said.

“Great.” Buffy held the door open, calling out, “We’ll be back, Dawnie!” as they left. The Summers sisters paid for only one parking spot, splitting use of the car. Even though Giles agreed to pay her a healthy salary for her service to the Council, she still didn’t have a tremendous amount of spending money saved up. Rome rent wasn’t cheap, even by her lofty California standard. 

She clicked the unlock button once and hoisted herself into the driver’s seat, waiting patiently for Willow to strap in before pulling out of the parking lot. “Do you need anything from the store? Or are you just tagging along?”

“Nah,” Willow said, adjusting her seat belt in order to increase her comfort. “I picked up a couple of things before leaving home.” She hesitated. “Do you want to talk about this trip at all, Buffy?”

“Yes. No. Maybe? I don’t fucking know, Wills. He... He didn’t even bother showing up for Mom’s funeral, you know? Then we had all those bills, and I... well, I died. He didn’t want to be a part of our lives back then.” She frowned, trying to remember _why_ exactly she had agreed to Dawn’s wishes to see their dad again. She shook herself. “Why should I care that he conned some floozy into marrying him? But at the same time, he’s my dad! Dawn hasn’t even actually, properly met the man. She deserves that opportunity.” She paused her rant to gauge her best friend’s reaction. When nothing except sympathy and compassion greeted her, she soldiered on. “I’m glad you and Xan are with me. I have such shitty memories of that city. I hope we don’t see Angel.”

“You wanna talk about that?” Willow asked.

Did she? No. “Not really.” Everything about her past with Angel was tied up in memories of Spike at this point, and the years didn’t make her ache for Spike’s touch any less. She still frequently closed her eyes and found herself catapulted back to Sunnydale, to that basement, into his arms as they slept. She’d always wake up from that to find the reality was the nightmare. She fucking _missed_ him.

Willow didn’t know how much. Only Dawn did. Her two best friends had made a half-hearted attempt to better understand the bond between Spike and her, but it just wasn’t something they could get. As the vampire slayer, Buffy’d been held to a different standard. She didn’t get to have a normal relationship with a non-human the way they did without the world stopping on its axis. She’d gotten used to her sacred calling with the years, but that aspect never got old. She just couldn’t confide in Willow and Xander how much she fucking loved that man.

She couldn’t tell them how she woke up in a cold sweat, seeing his pained expression after she’d kissed Angel, or the awed look when she came down the stairs that first night alive. The little things about Spike that she missed the most - the way he always wanted to keep his hands on her, as if a lack of contact would made her blink out of existence, or how he’d been the most selfless lover she could have ever imagined, or that he’d loved her despite her giving him every reason to give up - were also what made her love him now. Even years later, the Spike-shaped hole in her heart hadn’t lessened. 

Buffy felt tears threatening to spill over and wiped at her eyes with her sleeve. Stupid emotions! She glanced at Willow, hoping her witchy bestie hadn’t noticed the onslaught of emotions swirling in her head. No dice. What had they been talking about before her Spike-induced memory walk? Oh, right. “That wasn’t about Angel. Not directly, anyway.”

“Spike?” she guessed.

Damn perceptive best friends. “Yeah.”

“One day, we’ll have to sit down and talk about him; I’ve been thinking a lot the last year and I think I’m finally ready to try to get it. You and him,” Willow clarified.

“One day. Soon,” Buffy said. She stayed silent the rest of the drive to the store, too lost in thought to keep up a polite conversation.

The trip to Los Angeles hadn’t even begun, and she was already knee-deep on Memory Lane.

Fuck.

...

When they got back to the apartment, two shopping bags full of potato chips, half-gallons of water - they hadn’t had bottled water in six packs - and cheap gossip magazines, Dawn was waiting for them with takeout. Dawn now had a part-time job working for the Council, so Buffy had gifted her with her own bank account and, accordingly, credit card. It meant that her sister was grown up enough to order food on her own. 

Buffy planned to reimburse the cost of food, but for now, she settled down at their light brown wooden table to enjoy the grilled chicken and mashed potatoes they’d gotten from the local fast food joint. Dawn had pre-set the kitchen table with paper plates and utensils, so all Buffy and Willow needed to do was wash up and find a chair.

“How’d it go?” Dawn mumbled around a mouthful, nodding down to their shopping bags. 

“All set. Got stuff for both of us. We’re almost ready to go. You’re all packed, right?” Buffy asked. She’d been hounding her sister to get all the clothes together so nobody was scrambling the next morning.

“Yes, Mom,” Dawn drawled, then winced. “Sorry. It’s still habit. Yes, I packed. I’m ready to go.”

“Good,” Buffy said. She glanced at the table’s other occupant. “And you didn’t really ever unpack your stuff, so you’ll be ready to go when the car service gets here tomorrow?”

“Yup,” Willow agreed. “I say we grab a quick breakfast in the morning, then just wait.”

“Sound good,” Buffy said. “What do you two want to do tonight?”

“Let’s watch a movie!” Dawn suggested excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve been wanting to watch _Wedding Crashers_ ever since you got it for me, Buffy. Can we?”

Buffy shook her head in amusement. She’d gotten the movie just so Dawn would stop yelling her head off about how cute that Cooper actor was in the commercials. They hadn’t actually watched it yet, but... “Why not?”

Willow nodded, so they set out to clean up the dishes and settle in on the couch. Buffy sat on one end, Willow on the other, with Dawn leaning into the back cushion between them.

As the movie played, Buffy couldn’t help but compare the two main leads’ physical appearances to her vampire lovers. Vince Vaughn had broader shoulders and reminded her of Angel; Owen Wilson’s hair and his character’s love reminded her more of Spike. She imagined the two of them working together. It was ridiculous. They wouldn’t even last a week as partners.

When Will Ferrell’s character came on screen, Buffy had to laugh at the collection of comedic characters they’d assembled for this one. She glanced over at the now-sleeping Dawn and laughed. Her sister had been _so_ excited for this movie, yet had fallen asleep halfway in. Buffy paused the movie after a quick silent conversation with Willow.

When she found herself laying in bed, struggling to fall asleep an hour later, she let her thoughts drift back to Angel and Spike. She knew now that she didn’t love Angel any more. She still cared about him, but she’d somehow gone and done the incredibly stupid by falling in love with Spike. Even worse, she’d realized it too late. She couldn’t really pinpoint the moment. Maybe when he held her in the abandoned house, maybe in the kitchen afterwards... Or maybe it’d been when he looked so fucking hurt after her kiss with Angel. She was almost positive it’d been before he was burning in the Hellmouth, though, which made her decision to not tell him until then all the more difficult.

If only Buffy had another chance; she’d convince him that she loved him first, then chew him the fuck out for denying her feelings for him second.

Too bad that would never happen.

...

Landing in Los Angeles, the Summers sisters admired the skyline from the window seat on the airplane. Dawn stretched over Buffy so she could see too. 

The plane ride had been smooth enough, the lack of turbulence on such a long flight surprising to Buffy.

“Grab your carry-on, Dawnie,” she told her sister once the flight attendant had told them they could begin leaving the plane. They all chose to go with carry-ons to expedite the process in L.A. 

They also needed to meet Xander, who’d flown in separately, and had already been waiting for an hour, so the trio had agreed waiting at the baggage carousel was unnecessary. They were only going to be in Los Angeles for three days.

“Hey, there he is!” Willow exclaimed a few minutes later as they wheeled their luggage behind them on the moving walkway. 

Xander waved at them from his perch against a wall near the exit. “Buffy. Dawnster. Will. How are you three this fine evening?”

Buffy laughed. “Fine, Xan. How was your flight?”

“Good. I’m hungry as heck, though. Anyone up for a burger?” he asked.

“I would, but I told Dad we’d go straight to his place after checking in at the hotel,” Buffy explained. Hank had been quite insistent on seeing them as early as possible.

Buffy suspected there was some ulterior motive for that request, but she was trying to play nice with her dad for once in her adult life. The few times they had talked in the last five years had been contentious and animosity-filled. If only for Dawn’s sake, she was going to play nice. That meant obliging his request for them to come over right off the plane.

“Actually, Xan, if you don’t want to come, Dawnie and I can drop you off in the rental car at the hotel, then go on to Dad’s place without you,” Buffy offered. She figured both of her friends might prefer that, and, really, they didn’t need to come. 

“Oh, thank god, Buffster. Not that spending time with your dad is terrible,” he added guiltily. “I just don’t want to spend my entire evening there.” He chuckled.

Buffy lost herself in her thoughts on the walk to the rental car place. She wanted to enjoy this little excursion, but having to soon deal with her father was already dampening her mood. She didn’t actually know the last time she’d physically seen the man. Maybe her seventeenth birthday, right before Angelus? Or her eighteenth, when Giles weakened her? In the intervening years, Buffy had often thought about him, wondering whether her dad would approve of her choices in boyfriends, and whether he might like how she raised Dawn.

Years ago, Giles had called Hank Summers a ‘corrupted arsehole without a clue,’ defending Buffy; after Giles left her - _for her own good_ , she thought sarcastically - she’d thought more about her dad.

Now, she was only minutes away, a half hour at the most, from seeing him again. Despite herself, she was nervous. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, rubbing her palms on the material. Why was she so fucking disoriented about this all?

Did a part of her want her dad back in her life? He was, for all intents and purposes, a deadbeat, the type of douchebag who hightailed it when their girlfriend got pregnant. Yeah, he’d stayed while married to her mom, but after the divorce, he’d taken the first exit on the left and skedaddled. 

So, did she want him back in her life, and, if so, why? Those were the million dollar questions she needed to ponder.

...

Things at the rental car building went smoothly. Buffy had prepaid for the car; thankfully, she’d turned 25 the previous January, so they didn’t have any restrictions imposed on them.

Buffy chose a simple, classic four door sedan, the type of beauty Spike would’ve _adored_.

When Xander said as much, temporarily forgetting his audience, Buffy froze. Though Willow now appeared willing to hear about the Buffy and Spike Show, she doubted Xan would be there yet, if ever.

The sudden turn in conversation threw Buffy though, sending her thoughts spiraling into Potential-stuffed hangouts, crypt visits, back rubs on the back porch, and everything in between. She stayed that way, silent and broody, for the drive to their hotel, speaking only when spoken to directly.

Xander and Willow bid their goodbyes as soon as they pulled in front of the curbside luggage service door, grabbing their belongings and leaving to go check in.

Buffy remembered at the last second to ask Willow to get information about their parking lot, then drove off.

“Ready, Dawnie?” Buffy asked. They were now only a few minutes away from Hank Summers’ address. Buffy’s nerves clattered around in her heart, her stomach practically at her feet.

She pulled the car onto her father’s driveway, sliding up next to what she assumed was her future stepmother’s expensive Porsche. It figured her father had plenty of money now, years after it’d have been nice to have the help.

Buffy and Dawn got out, leaving their suitcases in the trunk. Buffy wanted the visit to be as informal as possible. She rang the bell, Dawn hanging back, looking nervous. “It’ll be OK, Dawnie. We’ll hear what he has to say, have some food, then head back and hang with Xan and Wills.”

Dawn nodded. “I know. It’s just... This is my first time actually meeting him, you know?”

She did. Before Buffy could add further reassurances, the door opened, and their father stood proudly in the doorway, the arrogance and indifference rolling off him in spades. 

“Girls,” he greeted, and Buffy stilled.

The first words the world class wanker had spoken to hear in years, and he didn’t put any emotion into them. Gods, she hated this already.

“Dad,” Dawn said, her voice thick. She avoided trembling, though.

“Hi, Dad,” Buffy got out, gesturing inside. “Can we come in?”

“Yes, yes,” Hank said. He stepped aside, leaving just enough room for them to squeeze by. 

Inside, Buffy marveled at the decor. She didn’t remember her dad having a particular eye for art, though with a wife who owned an art gallery, it was possible Buffy had repressed any memories involving her dad’s tastes. If she had to guess, it was all Melanie’s influence. Hank had told his daughters that his wife-to-be loved the raw beauty of paintings and sculptures.

Buffy walked further into the house, admiring the elegance despite herself. When she turned around a bend, she found Melanie - who was far more beautiful than she’d anticipated, although too young for their father, a brunette bombshell with pretty eyelashes and green eyes - working at the stove. She was nearly done preparing their dinner, which Buffy found to her satisfaction was chicken cutlets, cole slaw, breaded noodles, and carrots.

Since moving out of Sunnydale and away from the hellmouth-y weirdness, Buffy found herself learning how to cook more. Dawn and she wanted to spend more time as a family, and that involved sister dinners. She liked combining a meat, vegetable and carb, so Melanie’s choice delighted her despite the desire to hate this new woman.

“Hi, ladies,” Melanie welcomed them, pointing to the seats at the kitchen table. “Would you like to take a seat? We’re just about ready.”

To Buffy’s surprise, her dad walked over and put on an oven mitt, taking a pot off the stove that she hadn’t seen, filled with gravy. She didn’t remember her dad _ever_ helping their mom out around the house back before Sunnydale. 

She momentarily considered that maybe Hank had changed, then noticed the surprise in Melanie’s eyes and scratched that theory. He was just being polite for their sake.

Dawn sat down first, pulling one of the side chairs out. Buffy quickly slid into the seat next to her sister, keen on having their bond to get her through any unpleasantries. 

All four of them filled their plates, passing the serving dishes around the table. Hank offered Buffy a glass of wine, which she politely declined, pointing out that she had to drive home and couldn’t drink.

Alcohol and Buffy remained unmixy - one glass of wine could affect her for awhile. She’d let Dawn try wine during some of their sister bonding evenings, and Dawn would turn 21 the following year, but it seemed like Hank wasn’t going to offer.

Buffy saw her sister frown at that and hid a soft smile.

“So, Buffy, how was the flight?” Hank asked. She had to give it to him - he seemed genuinely interested, but she could see behind the fake front that he didn’t give a fuck.

She smiled thinly, replying, “Good. Long.”

A tense silence overtook the table before Melanie broke it, whispering to her future husband, “Tell them!”

Buffy shared a quick glance of fright with Dawn. Tell them what? She didn’t want any more surprises thrown at them. Their deadbeat father wedding someone who wasn’t their mother, especially after not even dignifying his first marriage by showing up to Joyce’s funeral, already didn’t sit well with Buffy.

“I got us six tickets to tomorrow’s playoff game,” Hank told them. 

The... Dodgers? “Why?” Dawn spoke up first, voicing what Buffy was thinking.

“Melanie is a big Dodgers fan. Before beginning her modeling career, she worked in the organization. She has a bright mind for baseball.”

That... shocked the hell out of Buffy, if only because she couldn’t see someone so intelligent falling for her father’s scintillating personality. The fleeting thought returned that maybe her dad had changed.

Years of disappointment taught Buffy that, no, the men in her life didn’t change. They left, whether because she wasn’t good enough, or for her own good, or so she could stand on her own two feet, or because she’d fucking failed them and gotten them killed. Well, the last one hadn’t been her fault, but the end result remained the same. Every guy in her life had left. 

Spike had changed for _her_ , but got ripped from her life all the same.

Maybe in a world where losing her virginity hadn’t ended with the world nearly being destroyed, Buffy could give her father the benefit of the doubt. As it was, she was finding that liked Melanie, and she now wanted to get her the hell aside and warn her about how shitty a man Hank Summers was. She’d need to do it out of earshot of Dawn, because their sister was still somewhat naive, hoping their father could be a part of their lives some day.

Buffy didn’t want to give him that opportunity. Except, she couldn’t think of a good excuse to get out of the game with just a day’s warning

“You said six,” Dawn repeated. “Xander and Willow are the other two, then?”

“Yes. I got two tickets for your little friends as well,” Hank said.

Just the tone in his voice as he said ‘little’ grated at Buffy’s last nerve.

“OK. Let me just go and text them, then,” Dawn said, excusing herself, placing the napkin neatly on her chair as she left.

Buffy sat there, listening to the lovers’ whispered conversation. They appeared to be waiting for Dawn to return before moving onto the second part of Hank’s news. 

That scared Buffy. 

She thought about what else they could have to tell. Was Melanie pregnant? God, she hoped not. She didn’t want a half-sister that she’d inevitably love. Buffy didn’t think it was in her to abandon a sibling. A new sister would permanently bring her father back into their lives.

Maybe it was wedding related? There would have to be plans made. Did they have a date? A reception venue? Wedding parties chosen? Bachelor and bachelorette parties? 

When Xander had gotten married, or nearly anyway, the plans stayed mostly between Xander and Anya. Despite Xan being one of her best friends, she hadn’t really helped with the wedding. She was determined to be a better friend if Willow ever got hitched. Dawn told her frequently that it wasn’t her fault; the wounds from being ripped from heaven were too raw, the depression too deep, for her to be of any real help so soon.

Buffy thought maybe her sister had a point, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Now, she was hoping beyond all hell to _not_ be asked to do anything. She felt simply gracing her father with her presence was good enough.

Dawn returned to the table, watching each of them curiously. “Did I miss anything? Xander and Willow said that was fine with them.”

Her words implied it was fine, but Buffy caught the hesitation, and had a feeling her two oldest friends were about as happy as her with the change in plans.

“The other thing we wanted to ask,” Melanie started, before Hank interrupted her with a cough.

“Yes, well, Melanie and I want you to both be in the wedding party as two of her bridesmaids,” her father said succinctly. 

Oh, _hell_ no. “No,” Buffy said, before Dawn could answer. She didn’t know if her little sister was going to agree or not, but she was absofuckinglutely not going to be a bridesmaid in her shitty-ass father’s second wedding. “No.”

Melanie looked hurt at the fast refusal, but Buffy could hardly care about that. Her father was not going to get the satisfaction of turning her life upside down. It was bad enough that her traitorous mind played Spike’s final words to her on a constant loop. She got up and pushed her plate away. “I’m suddenly not hungry.”

Not wanting to see her sister’s concerned gaze or her father’s disapproving glare, Buffy walked away, blindly finding the back door to her father’s house. She slid the glass door open and sighed as the fresh air crashed into her.

Buffy noted that her dad and Melanie had a fully furnished outdoor patio set: a grill, round glass table, six green chairs, and a big red umbrella. She sat in the swivel chair on the end, spinning until she could gaze out at the beautiful Los Angeles sky.

When the door slid open behind her, she expected to hear Dawn’s voice asking her if she was OK.

She didn’t expect it to be her dad.

Buffy shot a sidelong glance at him. “Really? Don’t expect me to apologize.”

“I wouldn’t expect that. I failed you, Buffy,” Hank said.

It was a rare burst of honesty from the man, so Buffy decided to see what he had to say. “I’m listening.”

“After the divorce, I got wrapped up in my own stuff. I know,” he said, halting the words bubbling up in her throat. “It’s a terrible excuse. I didn’t want to let years pass without visiting, without so much as doing more than talking on the phone on important days. And even that became too much after your mother passed. Believe me, I wanted to come. I should have. I’ve regretted that almost every day for the past five years, Buffy.”

“You don’t fucking get it, Dad. We really, really needed you. I had to plan her funeral, to bury her. My friends helped pick out your ex-wife’s casket. The mother of your children... God, I just needed you to be a fucking father for once in your life.”

Buffy paused, memories of the one man who’d been a real father to her overtaking her. “There was a man in Sunnydale, named Rupert Giles, who was a teacher at the high school while I was there. He treated me like a daughter. Do you know what I thought, during some of those days when he was so nice to me? What did I do wrong with you? How was I such a bad kid in your eyes that you wouldn’t even come and take me to Icecapades, yet Giles loved me like I was his own daughter?”

Buffy glanced at her dad, startled to see tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t deserve a second chance, Buffy, but if you’re offering one, I just want a chance to make it up to you. I want to help you and Dawn out financially. I know you have a good job now, and I’m so fucking proud of you, honey. Melanie’s been good for me, making me realize how badly I messed up with you and Dawnie. She was just a bitty little thing when your mother and I got divorced. God, I missed so much of your lives.”

Buffy's thoughts drifted to Spike when her dad called Dawn ‘bitty’, the pet nickname her vampire had given Dawn rattling through her brain. Fuck, she wished she could ask Spike about this. He’d volley back and forth with her, challenging every protest she could come up with. It would help her decide if giving this man who’d hurt her so much in high school a second chance was worth it.

Buffy’s mind gravitated toward Angel, someone she loved so much that she’d given him second chances even when he certainly didn’t deserve them. She’d forgiven Angel for so much. Did her dad deserve that same courtesy? 

Hell, even with his absence from her life for the better part of the last decade, he’d still been a big part of more than half her life, longer than any of her friends, longer than Angel or Giles or Spike...

She thought of Dawn inside. Even if only for Dawn, she could do this.

“Fine. One chance, Dad. This weekend. If this weekend goes well, I’ll think about being a bridesmaid for Melanie. Who, by the way, is way too good for you.”

“Yeah she is,” Hank said with a laugh. 

Buffy thought it might be OK.

...

Buffy looked around the stadium with wide eyes. She’d been to Dodgers Stadium as a kid, when she lived in Los Angeles, but never since. It had been more than a decade since the last time they’d gone as a family.

Dawn, Willow, and Xander had never been. When she and Dawn returned to the hotel, Buffy had explained to all three of them what she and her father had discussed. 

It fit the team’s color scheme perfectly that the upper level of seats was completely blue. Hank had gotten seats together on the second level along the third base line, well into foul territory. They’d gotten to the stadium an hour before gametime, her father requesting they all meet there early to get food at a local deli near the stadium. They weren’t allowed to bring outside food into the stadium, so the six of them ate their sandwiches in a comfortable silence, chatting only when Willow or Xander talked to Hank or Melanie, or vice-a-versa. 

Her friends appeared to get along with Melanie, which worked for Buffy. Her future stepmother was indeed a lovely woman, and Buffy saw a lot of Joyce in how the woman carried herself. She was easy to get along with.

Buffy watched as the Dodger players took to the field for final warmups, the pitcher throwing practice fastballs at a speed that amazed her, even if the radar gun didn’t have this Maddux guy crossing 90 miles per hour. Her dad had positively gushed about the pitching matchup, calling the Dodgers’ pitcher a future Hall of Famer and the Mets’ guy a has-been.

Buffy just laughed; baseball didn’t catch her interest much, but she could still appreciate the talent. She knew more than most how difficult reaching the top shape of your life was, and they were professional athletes.

When the game started, Buffy smiled, content with how the weekend was going at last. She thought she spotted Spike at one point, but refused to let her wandering, grief-stricken mind ruin the evening. She was there to watch the Dodgers win a playoff game, not lament the late love of her life.

Even if she could vividly imagine him pushing her up against the seat three sections over where Fake!Spike was and fucking her grief right out of her. It was a nice fantasy.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to irma66 & yellowb for beta-reading!

_ October 7, 2006 _

Spike lay on his baby blue comforter, stretching out his legs. It still felt awkward to have an apartment by himself. Cable had been a real riot to get used to. He shook his head, staving off a post-drunk headache.

He’d been lost lately. 

Spike  _ hated _ the end of September. Without fail, it reminded him of his years in Sunnydale, of Buffy and warmth and the light he’d come to associate with her presence in his unlife. Even now, three years out of her life, he wanted to commemorate the first time he’d barrelled over that ‘Welcome to Sunnyhell’ sign. He ached for the feel of her hands sliding up his chest, or the look in her eyes those last few nights.

The nine-year anniversary of meeting Buffy had just passed, and for Spike, that meant an onslaught of emotions stirring memories.

Barging into that hellhole with Dru had changed everything. The very first time he’d watched her gracefully glide across the Bronze’s poorly lit dance floor, he’d been a fucking goner. Now, Buffy was prancing around bloody Europe with the bloody Immortal, shaking her hips and probably shagging that piece of shit every night. Even if she wasn’t, Spike didn’t fucking want to know anything about how perfect her new shiny life was without him. 

Angel was right about one thing; they both needed to move on. The git himself seemed to be doing well in that arena; any time Spike went to his elder’s apartment, the wanker had a different girl in his bed. 

Spike had even walked in recently to witness pale ass cheeks gyrating over a thankfully-hidden girl. He’d sworn the fuck off entering before knocking after that. He knew that they each needed to exorcise Buffy differently, but Angelus needed to get his shit together.

Spike had decided to get drunk-off-his ass sloshed, to the point he’d start picturing Fred and Gunn instead of stolen moments in a dark basement with a woman who perpetually kept him at an arm’s length. God, there he was, thinking of the Slayer again.

He’d spent the entire last week immersed in a chain of bottles, stopping only to stumble to the next liquor store and grab another one. 

That led to his current predicament. Spike sat up, struggling to find his bearings. The room spun, the blinding light of his bedroom shining through his closed eyelids. When he blinked himself awake, he found Angelus staring back at him. Bloody hell.

He glanced at the calendar hanging from the bedroom closet, the day of that weekend’s playoff game looming large in the morning glare. That was today.

Fucking hell, the whole thing was a good laugh. Never in a million years would Spike have envisioned enjoying baseball of all things. Angel - of all the bloody, brooding arseholes in the world - showed him the joys of overgrown jackasses swinging a stick at a ball. The git had come over with a peace offering - a tumbler of Jack and a bucket of buffalo-style wings - after one of their bigger Buffy-related brawls. They’d watched the telly in silence until Angel suggested the Dodger game.

In all the years with Drusilla, Spike never gave America’s bloody pastime a second thought. It was an awful mockery of cricket, yet the more he watched with his grandsire, the greater appreciation he found for the strategy involved, especially in what those tossers in charge called the National League. As Angel told it, a few decades ago, there had been one set of rules, but the two associations split over whether the pitcher should hit. Spike preferred the strategic decisions involved in when to pinch-hit for your pitcher, when to bunt, how to play the bottom of the lineup with such a bad hitter looming, etc. He treated the game like a battle, something he excelled at.

Spike found himself analyzing every move the Dodgers’ skipper - some old guy named Grady Little - made, yelling swears at the TV whenever he disagreed with the call. The end result of it all was Spike spending some of the hard-earned dosh from he and Angel fighting the good fight on a pair of expensive playoff tickets. It was a night game, so they didn’t need to worry about the sun, but Angel’d insisted on seats that would have been in the shade anyway.

The first two games in New York - which, fuck, Spike had watched with rapt attention from his couch, the sodding sad excuse for a vampire he’d become - hadn’t gone great. They’d lost them both, and now had their backs against the wall.

Spike glared up at his grandsire, wondering how long he had. “‘Lo,” he greeted, giving Angel a one-fingered salute. 

“I came over to make sure you weren’t going to sleep the whole day away. Spike, we have to leave as soon as the sun goes down. Maybe even before.” Angel stood in the entryway to the bedroom, blocking out any light that’d otherwise be filtering in from the hallway. 

Spike glared at him. “I’ll be ready, you fucking git. Relax.” He discarded the bedsheet, uncaring of his nudity. He’d never understood the general opposition humankind had to sleeping starkers. It was a bloody enlightening experience. 

Angel shied his eyes away from the tableau and Spike grinned at his grandsire’s continued immaturity. 

He pulled his trousers up over his hips, shimmying the material to his waist. Spike glanced at the cheap wristwatch he’d procured from the local jeweler, noting they had about three hours until the sun would begin poking under the clouds and the two vampires could use the cloud cover to navigate their way to Dodger Stadium. “What exactly did you want to do for the new few hours, mate?”

“I, uh, didn’t think that far ahead, Spike. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to ditch on me since you’re getting so mopey lately.”

Spike sighed, barely resisting the urge to fire off an insult at the wanker. Just because Angelus couldn’t comprehend the connection Spike had with the Slayer didn’t justify needlessly ragging on Angel’s own with her. “Whatever, man. Let’s just put on a marathon or fire up the soddin’ X-Box.”

The one good perk of having his own flat was that Spike controlled the entertainment. He’d always been able to watch Passions, and back when Dru and he had been roaming the continents pre-Prague, he had briefly bought an original Nintendo. During the Sunnyhell years, he’d either had no access to TVs or hadn’t been the one with the reins. Now, he had both. 

After the battle, after Wes and Blue and Gunn has fallen, Spike had hunkered down, purchased a crate of expensive booze, and got blotched on a cocktail of gin and vodka and weed and any good, strong shit he could get his hands on. He came up for air only when Angelus dragged him out of bed, and the day after that, the two of them bought a flat for Spike, his grandsire oddly helpful, then went video game system shopping.

Apparently, losing his friends and the majority of his family made Angel reflect on his poor choices over time. He seemed to regret alienating Spike after the soul. Spike rebelled against what he perceived as pity, but, God, he hadn’t been in a position to refuse the help.

What was the fucking point of it all? He couldn’t have Buffy. He didn’t win the Shanshu - though, neither had Angelus. He lost the girl, the prize, the friends. What was left? 

Apparently, what remained was a family member who helped him decide between Sony and Microsoft; in this case, Spike had chosen the latter. 

“Video games,” Angel reluctantly agreed.

It was bloody  _ weird _ to sit on a couch with the vampire he considered his arch-nemesis for Buffy’s love, but also oddly fitting. “Halo?”

“You know it, Willy. Do you want to make a bet on who has the higher kill count?” Angel goaded him.

Everything was a bleedin’ competition with the git. “You’re on. Loser buys winner Buffalo Wild Wings on the way to the stadium tonight?”

“Deal. Fire up the system, and I’ll head up some mugs for us. You still look like shit, Spike. You need it.”

Bloody hell. He fucking knew he was unkempt, his formerly spiked locks mussed up. If Buffy saw him, she’d be ashamed at how little he cared... But, what was the point in giving a fuck about his appearance without the love of the girl?

When Angel returned with their blood, warmed to the exact right temperature, Spike glanced at his last remaining family member. Angel would never replace the Buffy hole in his unbeating heart, and he would never want the tosser to, but unless he changed course and sought Buffy out, he would have to make do.

The Dodgers game was just the distraction Spike needed.

...

The sun setting over the horizon on a normal night would signify to Spike that he and Angel could go out on the town and follow up on the day’s leads. 

That particular Saturday evening, though, Spike was sequestered in the back of a too-slow taxi, weaving its way to the home of the Dodgers.

Fuck, the backseat was too bloody small to be confined with Angel. He was going starkers mad inhaling the overgrown git’s hair gel. Did he have anything else to douse their senses with other than Broody and Moody?

Shit, the Slayer’s terrible way with the English language had rubbed off on him.

When the architectural masterpiece of a stadium entered into view, Spike rejoiced. He nodded to Angel when they parked, waiting expectantly for the older vampire to pay the fare. 

“Appreciate it, mate,” he said once they got out of view of the setting rays. “I’m all depressed. Can’t make me slink off  _ and  _ pay for the ride here. I need that dosh to get wasted.”

“Spike,” Angel sighed. “We’re here to watch the Dodgers beat the Mets, not so that you can get wasted on the same light shit we could buy at a supermarket. Just forget about her, all right? For one night.”

Spike knew his grandsire was right, but letting her go, even just in his mind and only for a night, seemed tantamount to treason. “Fine,” he allowed.

The rest of their wait to enter the stadium passed uneventfully, Spike observing their surroundings as they stood in line. He was pretty sure they’d be safe inside the stadium, but they each had enemies in the demon communities, Angel more so than Spike, and that sobering reality had Spike constantly on alert.

He only relaxed once they handed their ticket stubs over to the usher, the man pausing to give the two vampires a questioning look. Angel looked bloody weird with a blue Dodgers cap on, and Spike must’ve looked like a fish out of water in his customary duster. Spike nodded at the guy, then pushed through the metal turnstile. 

“Where to now, Oh Brooding One?”

“Left field corner. The section’s under an overhang in foul territory, so I figured if we needed shade, we had it.”

Spike sighed. Angelus was an unbelievable moron at times. “You do realize that if we were in any danger from the sun, we would’ve been fried the moment we stepped out of the taxi, right? Or during the long wait to get in.”

Angel just glowered at him.

“Whatever, Peaches. Let’s find our seats.”

It was going to be a long evening.

...

The game itself was going well. Spike hadn’t actually attended a game since getting into the sport, so he marveled at how much faster everything seemed on TV. The wait between pitches was excruciating.

He did like watching the morons spread across the crowd make bloody fools of themselves. One wanker spilled a half-full cup of the cheap beer they sold at events on his date; Spike guessed the chit would see to it that there wouldn’t be a second one. 

His lips twitched in amusement at the sight of a drunk couple making out just hidden out of view from the usher guarding their section. The fans in the row above said couple towered over them, blocking the spectacle from the security personnel; from the guy’s roaming hands, Spike figured they’d get tossed for public indecency at some point regardless.

He refocused his attention on the field of play when Angel whooped next to him, raising a fist in excitement. Seemed the catcher - some angry dude Spike noted had a two word last name - was yelling at the home plate umpire. The argument invigorated the crowd. Spike grinned, running his tongue across the sharp edges of his teeth. A fight! He stood and cheered, watching as the ump stepped back from Lo Duca’s attempted finger jab. 

The fans around them got into it with them, flinging curses. Since the fight didn’t involve any Dodgers, nobody knew which side to support, though most settled on backing the umpire.

After Lo Duca got himself ejected, Spike couldn’t lose the feeling of adrenaline rushing through him. His body itched for a good brawl, and for a moment Spike considered pushing Angel to help him instigate something with the couple pawing at each other’s chests nearby. 

The thought was fleeting; he didn’t think Angelus would approve. The bloody git was so into baseball now that he wasn’t likely to risk getting ejected from the stadium and miss the action.

Spike got up, tossing a quick, “Food,” at his grandsire, then trudged up the stairs toward the concourse. None of the damned concession stands sold any good shite, so he found himself waiting in line for a steak sandwich, hoping the kitchen staff hadn’t cooked all the bloody bits away already.

That was when he saw her, walking with a purpose toward the women’s bathroom. She looked like a vision, grown up beyond the Sunnydale years, and Spike’s undead heart ached at all the years he’d missed. Suddenly, staying away from his makeshift family seemed so fucking stupid. One look at one of his girls and he was done for, losing himself in a cascade of memories. 

Watching Buffy on the dance floor. Their first proper brawl, in that hellhole of a high school, complete with Joyce’s ‘Get the hell away from my daughter!’ Betraying Dru to help the Slayer save the bloody world. His Niblet, trusting him wholly. 

Quick flashes blinked in and out of existence until he reached that morning he’d woken up panting from a steamy Buffy dream, sure in the knowledge he loved the bint. The stream of memories ended with her confession of love, and his denial, before his mind caught back up to the present. 

He quickly threw a wad of singles at the cashier, grabbing the steak sandwich. He suddenly didn’t give a fuck how well done the thing was. He walked back to Angel, wondering if the rest of the bloody Scoobies were with the Bit.  _ Was Buffy? _

Bloody buggering fuck.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to irma66 & yellowb for beta-reading.

Dawn had felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up earlier, on her way to the bathroom, but dismissed them as a figment of her imagination.

Now, staring at  _ Angel _ at a freaking baseball game, wearing a stupid blue baseball hat, she re-evaluated that initial feeling. Maybe she had some sort of sister-to-a-slayer intuition when a vampire was near? Or maybe it was Angel, and...

Dawn missed Spike. She didn’t bring it up with Buffy often, mostly because, while unacknowledged recently, they both knew Buffy still grieved hard for him, and for things left unsaid, potential wasted.

She considered following her sister’s first real ex, the guy who stomped all over Buffy’s heart, used it up, spit it back up, and then had the audacity to flit around the edges of their lives. Oh, Dawn Summers really didn’t like Angel right then. She wanted Buffy to just let him go, but they always had some weird anti-closure hangup. 

Dawn knew it was different now; Buffy had loved Spike, and wouldn’t dishonor Spike’s sacrifice by attempting to reignite something so clearly finished. They’d at least talked about that, the one time Buffy spilled her guts on her vampire lovers. It made Dawn resent Angel leaving, staying, unliving, existing... And it made her fucking _ miss _ Spike. Dawn finally had the chance to voice her regrets about losing her best friend. It was almost enough to make her follow Angel, but...

She turned the other way, ready to head back to the others when Angel spoke her name. “Dawn?”

She flushed, embarrassed at getting caught. She wondered when Angel noticed her. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Catching a game.” He raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Can I assume that’s what you’re doing too?”

“Yeah.” God, she was being an idiot. He was just her sister’s ex. “I didn’t know you were into baseball.”

Angel shrugged. “Yeah, we, uh, I mean I needed something to distract myself after the battle with the Senior Partners.”

Ah. Dawn had, of course, heard the vague details about Angel’s team leading an apocalyptic charge against Wolfram and Hart’s senior management. Giles got reports from the Council lackeys in the area, passing along the bare essentials to her and Buffy. It turned out Angel hadn’t joined the dark side, but Buffy’s general disdain for his decision to ally with the evil law firm at all - as she told it to Dawn, indirectly leading to Spike’s demise for the sake of the world - kept them from associating with Angel regardless.

“What have you been doing besides that?” Dawn asked. She so badly wanted to rip Angel a new asshole for giving them that stupid fucking amulet, but didn’t want to cause a scene. She eventually had to get back to Buffy and Willow and, anyway, they were in the middle of a freaking stadium aisle. 

“Detective work. Fighting the good fight, helping people, all that stuff,” Angel answered her, his eyes shifting almost guiltily. Dawn filed that away for later.

“Found any more magical amulet death sentences lately?” It was out before she could swallow the words back. God, apparently she couldn’t hold back the jab. She almost regretted it, walking the words back, then saw Angel’s wince, a small, barely perceptible thing, but one that raised her internal alarm nonetheless. “Wait. You haven’t, right? Please tell me you aren’t going to damn someone else. Wasn’t Spike enough?”

Dawn stepped back; she couldn’t believe she’d actually accused him of it. She’d thought the words plenty of time, and knew that  _ Buffy _ partially blamed Angel for it, but... 

“You don’t understand, Dawnie,” Angel started, holding out a placating hand.

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped back.

“Sorry, Dawn. I didn’t know what that amulet was going to do to him. I knew it was volatile, but I didn’t know it would burn him up. I’m sorry he was in such pain, but it’s not my fault. I offered to stay, you know.”

She did. “Doesn’t matter, Peaches.” God, she needed to get out of there.

“Why does it even matter, anyway? Spike doesn’t, wouldn’t want you to mourn him. He’s not worth mourning for.” 

Dawn heard the present tense in his tone and, again, filed away the information for later. “Don’t tell me who to mourn, you fucking asshole.” She was seething, the baggage the vampire in front of her had dumped on her sister rearing its ugly head. “I want to mourn Spike, so I will. He was my best friend.”

Angel held out a hand, stopping her tirade from progressing any further. He turned away from her, then began walking away, dismissing her, muttering under his breath. She should have cared, except she couldn’t let go of the niggling doubt in her head at his final words.

“Some best friend you are to him,” he’d said.

Something was going on. It was time to bring Willow in.

...

Willow could tell that something had happened with Dawn while she’d been out grabbing food. For one, Dawn hadn’t come back with much of it left, which she’d learned was a sure sign her friend had been nervous. She ate fast when nervous.

Plus, Dawn kept surreptitiously glancing Willow’s way, chewing her lip in thought. The Dodgers game slid into the background as Willow waited for Dawn to say something,  _ anything _ that gave her any indication about what was on her mind.

She considered texting her concerns, but it was clear Dawn didn’t want to say anything right now, and the two of them texting each other would appear suspicious to Buffy and Xander, or Hank.

So, she waited, watching the game pass by uneventfully. Los Angeles took a one run lead in the fourth inning off of an Andre Ethier home run. Willow smiled when the crowd erupted, amused at how  _ into _ it everyone got. She hadn’t hated baseball, really, but the idea of throwing yourself so fully into a sports team that your mood rose and fell with the team’s success seemed foreign to her.

In the middle of the fifth inning, as the Mets took the field, Willow finally had an opening when Buffy wanted to grab ice cream. Her dad and his fiancee went with them, Hank offering to buy. When Xander decided they couldn’t have dessert without him, it left her alone with Dawn.

She glanced expectantly at the younger Summers sister, waiting her out. She didn’t have to for long. 

“I saw Angel,” Dawn admitted with a sheepish shrug of her shoulders. “When I went to go get food.”

“Buffy’s Angel?” Willow asked, ignoring Dawn’s withering glare. Yeah, it hadn’t been the best choice of words, but it was the way she’d known the big brooding vampire for the entire time they’d been acquainted. 

“Yeah. Him. He made me pretty mad.” Dawn hesitated. “He also said something that made me pretty curious, about... About Spike.”

Willow’s eyes widened imperceptibly, then she schooled her face into a caring, sad smile. “Dawnie, it’s natural to think about Spike when you see Angel.”

“No, that’s not it. God, Willow, just...” Dawn let out a deep breath, blowing a strand of her hair into the air. “He referred to him in the present tense, Wills. Angel said, verbatim, ‘Some best friend you are to him’. He said other little things that could have been slips of the tongue, but they add up to something being weird, Willow. I know it.”

Willow sort of agreed after hearing the entire story. She decided to investigate, though she’d need the opportunity to get some alone time to cast a locator spell on Angel. Unless... “Did you see where Angel was sitting, Dawnie?”

“I can show you. Let’s go before Buffy and the others get back,” Dawn said, and then they were off, slinking to do undercover work.

Willow found herself thrown right back into the happier memories, hoping that Dawn was right and she could finally do something to help her best friend’s happiness.

..

Willow and Dawn stood there, shell-shocked as the blond vampire they’d both thought dust clapped at Nomar Garciaparra slapping a single up the middle. 

With Angel.

Angel and Spike were watching a playoff baseball game.

Besides the obvious question of  _ how the fuck Spike was alive? _ , Willow wondered when the frilly hell Buffy’s two vampire lovers had become the type of friends who attended baseball games today.

What the hell?

“Dawnie, are you seeing what I am?” Willow whispered.

“Yeah, I am, Willow. I don’t believe it, but I see it.”

“What do we do?” Willow asked. Her mind went into overdrive, planning every manner of way for Buffy and Spike to  _ accidentally _ bump into each other.

Obviously, Spike had gone through major effort to conceal his return - however the fuck that happened - from all of them. Dawn definitely hadn’t known, and from Buffy’s palpable grief in the car the other day, she clearly didn’t. Willow was also pretty sure Xander didn’t know, since he frequently lamented how shittily he’d treated Spike, in one-on-one conversations with her.

She hadn’t talked to Giles lately, but hoped that if he knew, he wouldn’t have hidden it from Buffy, whatever his feelings on their connection.

“We tell Buffy, obviously,” Dawn said.

Willow sort of agreed, except she thought Spike wouldn’t take a direct, intentional confrontation well. “I think we should make it look like an accident somehow.”

“How do we do that?” Dawn asked.

“You head back to the seats. I’m going to hang around here, on the periphery. Spike’s always been good with his nose. I bet he eventually smells me. I’ll watch him. If he does, he might follow me and we can arrange for an accidental meeting between them. I’ll text you, ‘k?” Willow told her, the idea sprouting wings inside her mind, growing until she needed this to work.

Xander missed his chance with Anya, and she messed everything up with Tara, but... the idiot vampire Buffy still grieved dearly for was here, undead and well. She owed it to a decade-long friendship to fix it, to be a supportive best friend, and help bring Spike back to Buffy.

Dawn nodded, heading back to their seats, leaving Willow to her thoughts and plans.

...

Spike had sensed her a while ago, but hoped it was a passing feeling, the type of tingle in his body that came and went occasionally. He had imagined Rupes, Harris, Red, Anya, Tara, Buffy, Niblet, Drusilla... Basically anyone important to him made an appearance in his mind.

This time, it felt real though. The nagging feeling hadn’t gone away, and he had a sinking feeling that Willow actually  _ was _ here, staying near him. If that was the case, she knew.

He didn’t want to turn around, but eventually logic won out. He spotted a billowy head of red hair walking away from their section, his fear returning. Even though he’d seen Dawn earlier, he had hoped to get away undetected.

God, he didn’t want to see Buffy. He wasn’t ready to face her disappointment in him, to know with certainty that the woman he loved more than unlife itself didn’t give a fuck about him.

He didn’t know what would be worse, if she didn’t love him enough to seek him out after Andrew inevitably spilled the secret, or if she did love him but decided he wasn’t good for her. Bloody Angelus had twisted her sense of a healthy relationship so badly he was surprised the Slayer had the emotional wherewithal to care about anyone. 

Spike glanced over at Angel. Even after three years as comrades, their relationship was on flimsy enough grounds that a Slayer Sighting could unravel everything. So, Spike tried a different tactic. “Did you not smell Red, mate?”

“What?” Angel asked, looking over in surprise.

“Red. Willow. The Wicked Witch of Sunnydale. Buffy’s best friend. Any of this ringin’ a bell?” Spike asked, smirking.

Angel huffed. “Yes, I know who Willow is. No, I didn’t smell her. Why, did you?”

His grandsire’s incredibly bad senses always surprised Spike. How could Angel not smell that mix of wiccan herbs, the remnants of spells, and that sweet perfume Buffy’s shadow always wore? Maybe Spike just paid particular attention to his surroundings. “Yeah, mate. I did.”

He expected Angel to react with surprise, or excitement. After all, if Red was in L.A., it stood to reason Buffy would be. And Spike already knew Dawn was around. Both of them being in the same place would inevitably mean Buffy was here.

Instead, Angel looked nervous. “I might have run into Dawn earlier, and may have also slipped up and referred to you with present tense.” Angel tensed, clearly knowing Spike was raring to explode.

“You, uh, didn’t think to mention that bit of info? Why the bloody hell not?”

“I didn’t think we’d see her again,” Angel said, a picture of righteous indignation that made Spike snort.

“Yeah, right. You talked about her dead best friend in a way that hinted I was still unlivin’. Listen to yourself, you pillock. Do you even know the Summers sisters? Niblet’s just as smart as her big sis. I’m sure she went right to Red. Fuck! I’m gonna see if I can track Willow down.”

Spike got up, his duster knocking into other fans as he stepped around outstretched legs and riveted idiots. He nearly knocked the handsy arsehat upside the head, restraining himself at the last moment. 

The scent was faint, but Spike followed the remnants of Willow a few sections closer to home plate, pausing only when he spotted Willow, Dawn, and...

Fuck.

Fucking fuck fuck fuck. Spike’s jaw dropped, drinking in the now-foreign visage of his gorgeous Slayer, purposefully striding through the Dodger Stadium concourse. She was bloody magnificent even after all the years.

He dipped out of sight, watching her join the end of the bathroom line, tapping her foot impatiently. She’d somehow gotten more ferocious, yet remained the same wonderful beacon of light and power that he’d fallen madly in love with.

And, fuck, his feelings were still as strong for her as the day he’d left her in the hellmouth. He thought that maybe distance had made his mind build her up to a bloody unrealistic level, but, no... She was the real deal. His prick agreed too, protesting against the confines of his pants immediately, aching to touch her. He’d long since given up on the dream of ever being with her in that way again, but years of no contact left him a bumbling schoolboy in her presence, unable to prevent a fucking hard-on.

Spike felt silly, gawking at her from not fifty feet away, aroused yet far too terrified to make his presence known to her. In fact, he was so taken by her that he didn’t feel the two women sidling up next to him until Willow spoke up.

“You’re looking more alive than I was expecting, Spike.”

“‘M not alive, Red. Still a vampire,” Spike retorted, too surprised to muster up anything more elegant. “She know I’m here yet?”

“No,” the second person spoke up, harsher than Willow. 

Spike glanced at Dawn, his face softening. She was clearly pissed off, but he needed to deal with what was sure to be a frighteningly angry Buffy first.

Damn, he knew coming to his stupid bloody game with Angelus was a shitty idea.

“I’m gonna have to talk to her, aren’t I.”

“Yep,” Willow said, popping the ‘p’ in such a chipper voice he considered asking Dawn if they’d done a body switch. 

“She gonna be mad?” he asked.

“Probably for a few minutes, then she’s gonna be happy you’re here, Spike,” his Niblet said, punctuating her words by impulsively hugging him. “Like how  _ I’m _ glad you’re here.”

That had been Spike’s first clue things might be OK. If Dawn wasn’t mad at him anymore, Buffy couldn’t be that upset, right?

A moment later, a small voice breaking through his thoughts made Spike realize he was about to find out.

“Spike?”


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to irma66 & yellowb for beta-reading!

Buffy exited the bathroom, feeling lighter. Willow and Dawn were acting weird, but that was OK. She was having a genuinely good time hanging out with her father and Melanie, and Xander was enjoying all the well-struck hits.

She was so lost in happy thoughts that it took her mind several seconds to catch up when she saw Spike -  _ her Spike! _ \- standing next to Willow and Dawn, talking to them like absolutely nothing was wrong, even when everything was now fucked up.

“Spike?” she asked, not trusting her voice to be adequately... whatever the hell was appropriate in that situation. How do you act when the stupid, dumb vampire you’d been pining over for  _ three fucking years _ suddenly showed up in front of you?

“Slayer,” he greeted coolly. “How are you?”

“Hi, Buffy!” Willow said enthusiastically. “How about we go over there for this?” she said, pointing towards the open-air ramps that led up to their level.

“Sure,” Buffy said absently. “Over there works.”

She glanced at Spike as the foursome left the sight of prying eyes. She didn’t understand any of this.

Maybe she, Willow and Dawn were having a shared hallucination? She’d heard of such things. She was a mystical slayer of vampires; anything was possible.

Maybe Melanie had slipped them some pot with their sandwiches and that was why she was so relaxed?

Any of those felt like just as plausible answers as Spike showing up at a Dodgers’ playoff game after years of being fucking  _ dead _ . 

“We’re just gonna, uh, go,” Willow said, making Buffy realize they’d reached a secluded area behind the main concourse, overlooking the parking lot.

“OK,” she said. Once they’d left, she turned to Spike. “Explainy, please, how you’re alive, or undead, or whatever.”

Spike just looked at her, disbelieving. “There’s a good explanation, luv. God, I can’t believe you’re here, talking to me.”

The promise of his oncoming tears threatened to break Buffy. She reached up and ran a hand across his cheek, wiping at the beginnings of moisture falling from his eyes. “Hey. It’s OK, Spike. Talk to me.”

“I don’t know where to begin, Slayer. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s start with easy questions. How long have you been back?” Buffy asked. Gods, she hoped he hadn’t suffered. He’d done some truly heinous shit, but saving the world meant you got to go to heaven, right?

“I, uh... I popped out of that bloody amulet nineteen days after the hellmouth collapsed,” Spike admitted, turning away from her.

She dropped her hand. “What?” Her voice came out cracked and hollow, the follow-up dying on her lips. He’d been back for more than three fucking  _ years _ ? “What the fucking hell, Spike?” So much for declarations about her being ‘the one’. She’d frequently gone to bed savoring the memory of Spike adoring her, loving her, treating her like a treasure. Now, she’d know it was a fucking lie. All a lie.

“I was a ghost, all right? Incorporeal or some shit. I came out in Angel’s office. First thing, I asked about you, right? Bloody Peaches would only tell me you were OK. Nobody would call you for me.”

“A ghost? What? How?” The questions seemed inarticulate even to her, but, really, what did Spike expect? Buffy felt fresh tears threatening to fall from  _ her _ eyes and wiped angrily with her sleeve. “When did you become corpeal?”

“Corporeal,” Spike corrected, smiling. “I dunno. Fred - you know her? - helped. I guess I was a ghost for about half a year, maybe? It was a real riot, torturing your former like that. We went at it pretty good.”

Even as tears began to slide down her cheek, Buffy laughed at the mental picture. Spike and Angel, beating each other with words over fists. Yeah, she could picture her idiot vampire getting a hoot out of that. “OK, so, Fred gets you a real boy body again. Then what? Spike, that was over two and a half years ago!” The happiness faded, leaving renewed frustration and anger in its wake. “Do you not love me anymore? Why wouldn’t you call? Text? Carrier pigeon?”

Spike looked away again. “Of course I fucking love you, Buffy. I have since we met. Always will. Don’t insult me by doubtin’ that, pet.” He sighed. “At first? Angel made me doubt you loved me. I know I said ‘No, you don’t,’ but I believed you, Slayer. I had to. I just needed you to get the fuck out of there before we both went up in flames. You know that, right?” Spike turned back to her, grabbing her hands in the spot they’d caught fire together. “I believed you.”

“Then why?” Buffy asked. She steeled herself, refusing to cry just because Spike was a fucking moron. Whatever reason he had for staying away for so long, it wasn’t good enough.

“At one time, I told myself it was because I didn’t want to show back up in your life after goin’ out in a blaze of glory like that. It was bollocks. I know that. Then, there was this Shanshu prophecy your honey bear kept prattling on about. The vampire with a soul saved the world, and is rewarded by becoming a real boy again. Or something like that.”

Buffy remembered hearing about that prophecy, via Giles, in the wake of the Los Angeles apocalypse. Her Watcher was concerned that Buffy might run back to Angel if he became suddenly human. Buffy had assured Giles that after everything, after her ex signed Spike’s death warrant and she’d hurt Spike so fucking badly by kissing Angel, she could never go back to him. They were really over.

Giles hadn’t mentioned the prophecy again. But Angel had never contacted her, so she assumed he hadn’t gotten it. Which meant...

“Are you human now, Spike? Is that why you didn’t come find me? You think I wouldn’t love you as a human?” Buffy asked, aghast.

“Nah. Neither of us got the reward. Imagine that,” he said, laughing. “Peaches signed it away, and either it wasn’t for me or they knew I didn’t really want it.”

“I still don’t get it, Spike. Cut the rest of the story and tell me why.”

“I was afraid, Buffy. I was afraid you’d go back to him if he got the Shanshu, and then I was afraid you’d find me a failure for not wantin’ to be a real boy again, for not wishing I could stand in the sunlight with you. Angel certainly thought I was an idiot.” Spike paused, rolling his eyes skyward. “I was bloody terrified that I’d come back and find you in the Immortal’s arms - yeah, you didn’t think I knew about that, did you? - and I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

“Spike, I was never with the Immortal. I’ve been grieving  _ you _ , you giant dummy! The Immortal sitch is complicated, but I was never even in the same city as that wannabe.”

“But... Andrew said -”

“Andrew? What do you mean Andrew?” Buffy interrupted. Sure, she wasn’t best friends with the kid or anything, but he  _ knew _ how she felt about Spike.

“He saw me when he came to bring that crazy slayer, Dana, back. Got my hands hacked off an’ everything. I thought for sure he would’ve told you.”

Buffy shook with rage. She was going to wring Andrew’s neck the next time she saw him. “Don’t listen to anything he says. He was stationed in Rome with instructions to tell anyone who came by - including Angel - that I was with the Immortal. It was a decoy. I didn’t realize I had to include you on the list of people who could be in on the plan.” She glared at him. “You would’ve been on the list, Spike.”

“Hell, we’re a mess, luv.” Spike laughed. “I love you, Slayer. I’m glad I ran into you today. I’d forgotten how much I missed you.”

Buffy crumbled at his words. She still had things to work out, questions to ask, but... “I missed you too, you dolt.” She walked up to Spike and wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling her head into his chest. She’d forgotten the precise feeling of being in his arms; in the months after Sunnydale, her biggest regret had been not sleeping nestled in Spike’s embrace every single night for the final weeks. She’d hidden it from her friends well, but she grieved so hard for him at first that she briefly entertained asking Willow to bring him back somehow.

Except she knew the pain of being ripped from heaven and both hadn’t wanted to pull him out of there and hadn’t wanted to ask Willow to check out of fear she’d find out for sure that she’d damned him to an eternity in hell.

But he was here now, with her.

“I love you too, Spike.”

She’d apparently said the right thing, because before Buffy could blink, Spike had her pinned against the wall closest to the field, lifting her by the hips so her clothed ass scraped roughly against the wall.

It reminded her of the times they’d fucked against the alley by the Doublemeat Palace. Except, now, she truly wanted to be happy with Spike.

Spike reached for her jeans, fumbling with her zipper. She had the fleeting thought that they were in public, but ignored the nagging moral voice in her head. Buffy fucking  _ finally _ had Spike in her arms and wasn’t going to let him go so easily. “Please fuck me, Spike.”

She didn’t need to tell Spike twice. He had her panties out of the way in milliseconds, his hands struggling to get his own jeans out of the way. Once he finally had everything situated, Spike kissed her with the incredible passion she associated with him.

His lips moved against hers, his tongue slipping into her mouth. Spike lined up his cock to her, nudging his way in. He paused, pulling away from her mouth, staring into her eyes.

“Yes, Spike. Fuck me,  _ now _ ,” Buffy told him.

In the next second he’d reattached his lips to hers and plunged his cock into her, rocking slowly against her. She sighed with pleasure, moving her lips to trail light kisses down his neckline, his jaw, his cheekbones... 

He was so fucking gorgeous, and all hers for the taking. She wanted to give, though. To give, and give, and never let him forget how fucking much she loved him. She’d let him  _ die _ without that knowledge, but she planned to make up for it now. Buffy was going to take him patrolling. They were going to go on dates - real ones, with dinners and movies and the normal shit couples got to do.

Thoughts of romantic candlelit evenings with her lover fled her mind when Spike thrust harder, reaching further depths inside her pussy. She clenched down on him, exercising those Slayer muscles he was so damn fond of. “Oh, God, Spike,” she moaned into the crook of his neck.

“Buffy, Buffy,” he chanted, moving his hands to the globes of her ass. He held her up by her bottom, thrusting up into her. 

She didn’t want him to do all the work. Buffy was in an equal opportunity mood. “Put your hands against the wall, Spike. Let me ride you. Let me make you feel good.”

Spike balanced her on his cock and put both palms flat against the concrete.

Satisfied, Buffy began sliding her hips up and down, trying to take him even deeper inside her. She kissed the corner of his mouth, a gesture they’d never done during their previous affair. As she rode him, she kissed every available inch of Spike’s face, drinking in the wonderful reality that he was  _ there _ and  _ hers _ again. She’d been afraid he might evaporate earlier, but now that he was finally fucking her again, she let herself believe.

If it turned out to be her imagination playing a cruel trick on her, Buffy knew she was going to cry. In fact, she thought the tears might be coming now, since Spike began rubbing her cheek affectionately, now down to one hand braced against the wall. 

“You OK, luv?” he asked her.

“I’m perfect, Spike. Less talking - for now - and more with the love making, mister. We can talk the rest of the night.” She suddenly paused, Spike buried to the hilt inside her cunt, a crazy thought coming to her in that inopportune moment. “You  _ are _ staying with me tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else, Buffy. But you’re right about the less talking thing.”

The next few minutes were a frenzy of action, Buffy convincing Spike to turn them around and slide down to they could both reach their climax in a more intimate position than a fuck against the wall. She buried her face into his neck as she came, clenching her muscles again. Spike kept pistoning into her for a surprisingly long time afterward, reaching orgasm only when she captured his bottom lip between hers and tugged lightly at it, sliding her tongue against his.

She felt proud that she could make someone as sexually experienced as Spike come undone with so little. Buffy knew her lover found her irresistible and sexy, but the physical confirmation of those facts still delighted her. 

“As much as I want to go ‘nother round, luv, we should prob’ly get back to the others,” Spike mumbled, pressing his nose into her hair.

It seemed he couldn’t get enough of her, either. “They can wait.” Buffy reached down between them to palm his cock, running her fingers around the engorged head. He was still hard, amazingly. “Stand up.”

“Buffy, no. You don’t need to do that right now.”

“What if I want to?”

“Do you?”

Buffy held his gaze. “Yeah.” At his surprise, she grinned, motioning for him to rise to his feet. “I want to make you feel good, Spike. We both know you’ll spend much of tonight worshipping my tight little pussy, right?” she told him, throwing the words he used to whisper at her from between her legs back at him. “Let me do this for you.”

Spike finally acquiesced, climbing unsteadily to his feet. His jeans were half-open, his boxers pulled down enough for his cock to spring free. Buffy yanked both pieces of clothing further down over Spike’s hips, his cock bouncing up to hit her in the nose.

She experimentally tugged at the head, running her fingers over it again. It’d been awhile since she’d given anyone a blow job; Spike had been the last guy, and they’d only done it a few times. Buffy leaned forward and ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, smiling happily when it grew against her.

“Oh, Buffy, fuck,” Spike groaned when she stretched her lips around the pink head and slid her mouth down over the base of his cock. She swallowed once, gripping his ass cheeks to move him further into her.

Buffy wanted to get more of his cock down her throat, to the point where she might actually manage to deepthroat Spike’s dick, so she scooted closer to him. Spike helped her out when he ran several fingers through her blonde hair, gripping her and pulling her further down on his dick. He was careful not to be too rough, ceding ultimate control to Buffy. 

She was plenty content to swallow as much of his cock as he desired. She relaxed her throat muscles, gliding her lips up and down him, trying to do every little trick she remembered from their previous couplings. 

When he got close, he tried to gently pull her off his dick, but she stubbornly stayed. In the past, she’d angrily rejected his attempts to get her to swallow, but now she wanted to taste him in case this  _ was _ her dream.

Buffy pulled Spike’s dick particularly deep into her mouth on one thrust, holding him there when she felt him begin to come down her throat. She swallowed his spendings, licking her lips when he removed himself from her mouth.

“God, Buffy... That was bloody fantastic,” Spike told her, falling into a squat next to her. “You’d best believe I’m going to spend tonight between your legs, licking that tasty cunt. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Not caring that she still had his cum on her breath, Spike kissed her soundly, pulling her into his arms and wrapping her up in a bear hug. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, Spike,” she said once he pulled away. Thoughts of Spike tied up on his back while she ground her pussy down onto his face, coming multiple times at the mercy of his insanely talented tongue made Buffy wet again. But this time, they really did need to get back before Willow sent out a search and rescue team. “Later, though, tiger.” She reached up and caressed his cheek, pulling him into another kiss.

It took them a couple minutes to get their clothes in order, straightening out their shirts so that Buffy didn’t look freshly fucked when she found her way back to her seats. She told Spike he wasn’t going anywhere without her, and didn’t want Hank’s first impression of Spike to be as the guy who clearly defiled his daughter in a stadium airwell. 

Buffy reached for his hand, clasping her fingers through his. “Ready, Randy?” She could hear the sounds of cheers from the inside of the stadium. It looked like the Dodgers were still playing well.

Spike grinned at her. “Ready, Joan.”


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to irma66 and yellowb for beta-reading this. I made some changes after their last read-through, so any additional errors are on me.

Spike felt happier than he had in ages - since the last time he and Buffy had been together. The years and distance melted away to nothing once he had her in his arms.

Fuck, kissing her was exquisite. He loved her so much. 

Walking back to their seats, Spike took out his cell and fired off a text to Angel, telling him to come hang out with them. Buffy’d said they strangely had two empty seats in the row in front of them, despite it being a playoff game. She was going to sit there with him, and they’d let Angel take her seat with the others.

Was bloody weird to think of Angel chatting up Hank Summers. Spike wanted to see that.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Buffy asked, grabbing his hand between her fingers. Just that little thing made Spike come undone, a mess of emotions that Angelus would’ve mocked him for.

“Jus’ happy, Slayer.” He leaned in for a quick kiss. “Let’s go meet your friends.” He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She’d been too accepting of his decision, to understanding of his fear. He wanted to just pretend everything would be OK.

They walked side by side back down to her section, choosing to head down the aisle during an inning break out of courtesy for the other fans. Not that Spike gave a rat’s arse about interrupting their view. 

He did find it weird that there weren’t security guards checking the tickets, but figured maybe they had been earlier in the game. 

Her friends and sister didn’t seem surprised to see him when they reached their row. Niblet and Willow offered small smiles and a wave, clearly happy to see that nobody had died - again - during their talk.

Xander didn’t give him a smile, but to Spike, the quick nod and acknowledgement was bloody fine enough. He’d always come up lacking in the eyes of Buffy’s best guy friend, but felt like the git finally approved now.

Maybe he’d grown up after losing his bird.

The last two people were the only members of the little group that Spike had never met before. He recognized Hank Summers from some old family pictures Joyce’d had lying around the house before her death.

He’d noticed that Buffy’d taken them all down after her mom’s death, but never questioned her about it.

The wanker looked like the type who’d abandon his daughters. 

The woman next to Buffy’s dad must’ve been the his fiancee. She gave him a nice enough smile, so Spike returned it. 

“You must be Spike, I assume,” Hank said dryly. “My daughter told me that the girls had run into you and you might be coming to sit with us.”

Spike just nodded his head.

Fucking hell, he’d become a soddin’ lovesick teenager all of a sudden. Nervous in front of his lover’s father. Buffy wasn’t some innocent wallflower that needed protecting, but Spike felt Hank’s assessing gaze all the same.

Which was bloody ridiculous, considering the other man’s deliberate decision to leave Buffy. The reminder fueling his confidence, Spike reached out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hank seemed to relax at the display of manners, so Spike figured he’d done well. He glanced at Buffy, catching her soft smile. Even if she wasn’t a fan of the man, she clearly appreciated the gesture.

“Now that the introductions are done, let’s sit, Spike,” Buffy told him, plopping down. She tugged his hand until his body followed.

Spike turned his attention back to the game, his mind anywhere but. He’d reunited with the love of his unlife, saw her whole gang of friends again, met her dad... And the world hadn’t gone tits up. 

Even Angel’s impending arrival couldn’t ruin the rest of Spike’s evening.

Buffy was in love with  _ him _ . Spike. She reeked of him, which his grandsire would know right off the bat. 

As he watched the Dodgers win and extend the series, his smile never left, even when Angel glowered at their clasped hands. He and the Slayer had shit they still needed to hash out, but she loved him, and he loved her so bloody much, and that was a right good place to start.

That thought would get him through the next day and the awkward introductions he was sure to face at the blasted party.

...

Buffy had to give a hand to her dad. He certainly knew how to throw an extravagant event. She had been too young to appreciate the party-going side of him before the divorce.

The adjoining living and dining rooms in Hank’s house were decked out with folding tables, plastic chairs, and decorations strung from the ceiling.

She looked around for her friends, spotting Willow laughing with Dawnie by the buffet table. Angel talking with Xander wigged her out, but she chalked it up to Spike not being around and both of them needing male camaraderie. 

Her now-boyfriend was right at her side, never straying too far from her. She considered what a missed opportunity it was that she hadn’t physically glued him to her hips.

They still hadn’t fully discussed the missing years, but she loved him and she felt plenty comfortable with where they were at to discuss logistics for the future. She still planned to give him hell, and it would be a fucking fantastic fight, second only to the makeup sex that would follow.

Buffy didn’t have much tying her down in Rome, so after the party she planned to discuss moving to Los Angeles with Dawn. After the semester concluded, of course. If Dawn wanted to stay in Italy, she figured Giles owed her enough for her years of sacrifice that he could afford to put Dawn up in a studio until she finished her education.

The Watcher’s Council had opened a Los Angeles branch, which Buffy intended to work at after moving, if Spike wanted to stay. As far as she was concerned, they could go anywhere as long as they were with Dawn, an unbreakable trio.

Buffy also factored her father into the equation. He had demonstrated a willingness to change and attempt to earn back her trust and forgiveness.

The one talk she  _ had _ had with Spike already was about her dad. He didn’t much Hank for what he’d done to her and Dawnie, but felt her dad was being earnest. They’d even consulted Angel, who agreed that there didn’t appear to be anything obviously deceitful in his words and actions.

She was really glad she came for the engagement party after how perfectly everything had fallen into place for her. She had her dad at least back in some capacity, a renewed friendship with Angel, and her friends approved of her boyfriend, the same vampire they’d both spent time railing on her for dating the first time around.

Oh, yeah, and she had said boyfriend, her love, back in her life at all.

Buffy was happy, and didn’t want to consider a reality where she’d skipped out on this trip and never crossed paths with Spike.

She’d really dodged a bullet there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this fic. I might add more to this little 'verse in the future, especially to expand upon Hank & Buffy's renewed father-daughter relationship or to give the Spuffy argument that's surely coming some life. I haven't decided, yet. Thanks again to irma66 & yellowb for beta-reading, and a very happy birthday to Kanotari!


End file.
